Lone Star Santa

by Heather MacAllister

  Her father ran a squeaky clean operation and Kristen wasn’t going to jeopardize that.

  What to do, what to do.

  Start that paper trail, for one thing. So she was her own client. She’d be up front about it. And she’d use one of their Dating Security packets, too. She was allowed to date, right? And…and maybe she’d like to invest, too. Maybe…maybe she became interested after meeting Mitch. And…and she was thinking of using his financial services. Yeah. That would do it. Never mind that she didn’t have anything to invest. She was looking ahead. Planning for the future.

  And if investigating whether Mitch was on the up-and-up—there were those nasty blocks and bars in his records, after all—she needed to delve into his company, because of her future investing and all, well, a girl couldn’t be too careful these days. Therefore, didn’t it make perfect sense to investigate his company and, by extension, his partner in crime? Bad choice of words.

  Kristen got into character. “Why, Mr. District Attorney—” insert batting of eyelashes “—when I couldn’t find out anything about Mitch, what was I to do? I mean, I could have lost my life savings as well as my virtue.”

  Oh, yeah. That would be convincing. Maybe she should go for the cynical-burned-by-life-yet-still-hopeful type. “Mr. District Attorney, I’d been burned before—” insert Scarlett O’Hara I’ll-never-be-hungry-again expression “—and I wasn’t going to get burned again.”

  Bingo. She could so sell that if she had to.

  Okay. Paperwork done. Everything on the up-and-up. Commencing investigation of Sloane and Donner Financial Services.

  Noir Blanc owned various software programs that provided access to detailed databases and subscribed on a per-use basis to other, more specialized services. That’s where she figured she’d find all the dirt. Kristen felt mildly guilty for running up a tab, especially when she was her own client. She should just stop. It wasn’t as if Mitch’s problems were her problems.

  But…but she had a hunch. Carl Zaleski was a great believer in hunches and intuition and she told herself he’d be pleased. Her father claimed that hunches, intuition and the ever popular “gut feeling” were actually the result of sharpened observation skills. He’d been trying to hone Kristen’s skills by having her relieve him on boring stakeouts and following people. Honestly, it was great acting training. But she didn’t feel detective-like, even though she thought she was a fairly good observer of human nature. And, though her father encouraged her—probably hoping she’d have some marketable skill to fall back on—she’d never intuited anything and the only hunch she’d felt was the ache in her shoulders from leaning on the steering wheel of their car.

  Until now. Now, she was feeling something and it was kind of a kick. An expensive kick, she winced as she rang up a $29.95 charge for access to yet another financial database. The answers were out there. She just had to ask the right questions. And it seemed that the right questions were more about Jeremy than Mitch.

  Time passed. Shadows fell. Kristen’s father called from a liquor store fifty-two miles away. As she talked with him, Kristen stretched one arm at a time over her head and then stood to get the circulation moving in her legs. “Mrs. Beckman made you, huh Dad?”

  “I’m not sure. She’s still sitting in the car, poor woman. I’m hoping she’ll turn around and drive back without my interference.” Carl Zaleski sighed. “You might as well go on home. Close up for me?”

  “Sure. Hey, I’m working on something. You know Mitch Donner?”

  “I…uh…”

  “Oh, come on. We know you and Mom and his parents have been talking about us.”

  There was silence.

  “Dad?”

  “I can’t remember if I’m supposed to admit that or not. I’m just not good at this sort of thing!”

  Kristen laughed. “Dad! You’re an investigator!”

  “Right. Not a matchmaker. Oh, for the love of Mike, I know I shouldn’t have said that.” He sighed heavily.

  “It’s okay. Mitch and I’ll probably hang out together.”

  Sounding hopeful, he asked, “Is that anything like going on a date?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Could you tell your mother that I had something to do with it?”

  Kristen smiled. “Actually, you did when you had me look into Christmas decorations. He’s working for The Electric Santa.”

  “Why is he doing that?”

  Kristen didn’t want to tell her father the whole story just yet. “He has issues and he told me all about them. The thing is, he’s not the kind of guy who should have these issues. Something isn’t right.”

  “Kristen! You have a hunch.” Her dad sounded so delighted.

  “Yeah…about that. I hired myself, since I was thinking of hanging—dating Mitch.” She waited.

  “That sounds reasonable.”

  “This hunch is proving expensive,” she told her father bluntly.

  “It’s your first one. You’ll get more efficient. Go with your hunch until you find something or you’re satisfied that there’s nothing to find.”

  “That’s just it—I’ve found a bunch of stuff, but I don’t know what it all means.”

  “Well, you know, this business isn’t as easy as people think, just the way it isn’t the glamorous job the movies make it out to be.”

  Kristen rolled her eyes at his patronizing father-knows-all tone.

  “What are you looking into?” he asked.

  “Financial sites. I keep getting ‘flagged’ messages and ‘investigation pending, access denied’ and contact so and so with any information—”

  “Kristen,” her father’s voice changed instantly. “You are not to have anything to do with—”

  “No, no, no. This doesn’t have anything to do with Mitch, but with his partner and their company. But Mitch is the one the SEC and the FBI are after.”

  “Kristen!”

  “Dad, give me some credit.”

  After a short silence, he grumbled. “You need to fine-tune your hunches. Tomorrow, I’ll take a look at what you’ve got if you like.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “You’re going to drive me to drink—how convenient that I’m sitting in a liquor store parking lot.”

  Kristen grinned. “You’re a good dad.”

  He snorted. “Say that again when your mother can hear.”

  Kristen cradled the heavy receiver and was still chuckling when the phone rang again. “Yes, I’ll tell her!”

  “Tell who what?” her mother’s voice asked.

  “Mom!”

  “Is that the way you answer the office phone?”

  “I was just talking to my great and wonderful dad who is currently parked at a liquor store in La Marque.”

  Barbara didn’t miss a beat. “Nora Beckman?”

  “Yep.”

  Her mother inhaled. “Alcoholism is such a nasty disease and this is a tough time of year. Maybe she needs a distraction. I’ll give Patsy Donner a call and see if there’s something Nora can do with the light parade.”

  Kristen shook her head. “Oh, that was smooth, Mom. Were you always this slick when I was growing up?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Working Patsy Donner into the conversation so you can ask whether I’ve connected with Mitch yet.”

  “I must be out of practice. So? You and Mitch?”

  “Why do you care whether or not I go out with him?”

  “Because you’re spending too much time sitting on the couch,” her mother answered.

  “I’m working for Dad all day!”

  “And sitting on the couch all night.”

  Kristen groaned. “Mom.”

  “Okay, we won’t talk about Mitch or your spreading hips. So that leaves the rest of your life. What’s up?”

  Never mind the spreading hips, Kristen didn’t want to think about her career, or her lack of one just then. She’d anticipated the question or something like it sooner or later, but she
’d really hoped for later. “Point taken. And I do appreciate you holding back on the questions for so long.”

  “Kristen, you’re an adult. We’re your parents and we love you. When you’re ready to talk, we’ll listen.”

  “Thanks.” Kristen had to swallow hard.

  “But if you don’t talk soon, it’s our God-given right to bug you about it.”

  “I know.” Time for a distraction of her own. “By the way, Mitch is a cutie. He’s working for The Electric Santa and came by today. We’re going out to dinner—after he gets paid.”

  Kristen enjoyed the ensuing silence.

  “Uh…”

  Kristen couldn’t help teasing her mother. “Careful what you wish for!”

  “Kristen…” There was a wealth of parental warning and concern in the way her mother said her name.

  “It’s okay, Mom.” Kristen briefly brought her mother up to speed on Mitch’s situation. “Maybe you can help me with some of this real estate stuff I’ve found. For instance, did you know that Jeremy Sloane’s dad owns a construction company?”

  “Oh, yes. Let’s not get into this on the phone. I really called to tell you that I’m waiting to go to an after-hours closing and to see if you could catch a ride home with your father. But since he’s not there—”

  “Take your time. I want to keep working on this. So I’ll see you when I see you, okay?”

  “All right. Thanks, sweetie.”

  “Love you, Mom. Bye.”

  Kristen intended to get right back to work, but instead, she let her mind wander to her acting career, or lack of one. She’d been trying to live life without acting to see if she could. To see if anything else interested her. But she’d turned this job for her father into an acting gig and everyone she researched became fodder for characterization.

  Kristen didn’t know where she got this fascination for immersing herself into characters. No one else in her family had ever acted. Her childhood was fine, she was fairly popular in school, and had suffered no more than an expected amount of teenaged angst, so she wasn’t trying to escape anything or anyone. Still, she thought she had a talent for bringing characters to life.

  Or was she kidding herself?

  Maybe. Probably. But she had a feeling she wasn’t the only one.

  Kristen logged into yet another real estate site and stared at a screen with a whole lot of words and not any interesting pictures of properties. These names were beginning to sound familiar which meant she was due for a break. Too bad. No breaks when she was paying for access by the minute.

  Still reading, she stood up and stretched, stomped her feet and sat right back down again. She had definitely seen some of these names before. They’d been buried within the Russian nesting doll–like structure of companies that started with that personnel company that had queried about Mitch’s credit report.

  But was that something bad? It wasn’t illegal to have holding companies. And a credit query wasn’t illegal, either. And so what if some of those companies showed up more than once? And so what if Mitch’s partner’s name showed up, too? And so what if Mitch’s partner’s father’s construction company showed up, as well? Maybe Jeremy’s dad had thrown business their way. Nothing illegal about helping offspring. Look at Kristen.

  And yet she felt she was missing something. Which meant Mitch was missing something.

  Kristen added to her notes. She was using a cool fountain pen, which made the tedious work marginally better, and a yellow legal pad that turned the ink a funky greenish black. There was probably some software program for what she was doing, but Kristen was rusty on spreadsheets and now was not the time for a tutorial.

  She was so engrossed in her columns and arrows and patterns that she started when the door opened and her mother walked in.

  “You scared me!” A big drop of ink blotted Kristen’s notes.

  “I honked a couple of times.” Barbara hesitated.

  “Oh, don’t say it.”

  “What? That you should have locked the door?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Okay.” Her mother came to stand next to her and looked at the screen. “What have you got?”

  Kristen was using a tissue to soak up the ink blot. “Names and companies. I’m looking for a pattern.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. It would help if I did. I mean, some of these companies are buying and selling property so fast. And what’s with all the different names? One guy has thirteen. Jeremy’s father has a bunch.”

  Her mother went still. “Really.”

  “Yeah—take a look while I wash the ink off my fingers.” Kristen curled them into claws around the tissue and hunched as she stood. “I’m merely an ink-stained wretch,” she said in a quavery voice while limping toward the bathroom. “Working for my daily crust of bread…”

  When she returned—was ink always that hard to wash off?—she found her mother sitting in front of the computer. She’d turned over the page with the inkblot and was writing on the one beneath. Writing a lot, Kristen noticed.

  “Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m typing in my password.”

  “Oh, Mom!”

  Barbara gave her a look—one Kristen had never seen before and one that had her turning around pronto.

  “What are you doing? Accessing some secret, legally iffy Web site you don’t want me to know about?” She tried to make it a joke, but it didn’t quite come off. Well, she’d never been a comedienne.

  “Yes,” her mother replied.

  Yes? “You’re kidding. Aren’t you? I was.”

  “No.”

  And that was the moment of Kristen’s parental epiphany. Her parents really had changed. Or more likely they’d shrugged off the parent role and were acting more like the people they were when they weren’t being her parents, if that made sense. Parents as people. What a concept.

  “That bastard.”

  Whoa, now she knew they’d changed. “Uh, Mom?” Kristen turned around.

  “I need to trade information—may I use your notes?” Barbara’s voice was clipped.

  “Sure,” Kristen answered before thinking better of it “—except don’t do anything that’ll hurt Mitch.”

  Silence.

  “Is there anything that’ll hurt Mitch?” she asked in a small voice.

  Barbara gave her a long look. “That depends.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “I don’t like the looks of this.” Her mother waved at Kristen’s notes.

  “You mean I actually found something?”

  “You found pieces and I’m going to try to find the links. May I?”

  Kristen nodded and immediately felt queasy. For heaven’s sake, she hardly knew Mitch, and yet, here she was, worried on his behalf. She thought about his smile and that stupid Santa hoodie. She thought about the abs beneath the stupid Santa hoodie. Kristen had developed a theory about potential relationships based on abdominal development. Too squishy and that meant a desk job and no time for a girlfriend. Or a guy who didn’t care and wouldn’t put in any effort. A well-defined six pack required hours at the gym and thus meant no time for a relationship and an attitude that girls were supposed to be grateful to be noticed at all.

  Mitch had girlfriend abs. Defined enough to show that he’d made an effort, definitely cared, but still had time to spare for the right relationship.

  Kristen watched her mother’s fingers dance over the keyboard. She would have made more money temping if she’d typed that well. “Wow. I didn’t know you could type like that.”

  Without taking her eyes from the screen, Barbara commented, “I’m part of the generation where women were nurses, teachers or secretaries. I went for secretary. I remember what a big deal it was when our school got electric typewriters.”

  “Mom.”

  Her mother smiled to herself, but as Kristen watched the smile shrank. “Sloane Property Development and Construction. They re
ally like their name on things, don’t they?”

  Kristen figured it was a rhetorical question.

  Glancing at Kristen’s handwritten notes, Barbara grimaced. “Why didn’t you set up a spreadsheet with this information?”

  “It’s been awhile since computer class.”

  “I’m going to set one up for you.” Barbara had already opened the software. “Then you can input the information while I make a couple of phone calls.”

  Kristen watched for a few minutes and tried to remember anything about spreadsheets. Not happening.

  “Okay. You’re set.” Her mother pushed the chair back from the desk. “I’m going to use Carl’s office phone. I don’t want a record on my cell.”

  Kristen stared after her. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Cell phone calls aren’t secure. Remember that.”

  “Dad’s rubbing off on you.”

  Her mother smiled over her shoulder. “Not often enough.”

  “Mother!”

  Her mother laughed as she shut the office door.

  Type, Kristen instructed herself. Type and do not go there. She stared at the closed door behind which her mother was doing who-knew-what. Do not go anywhere.

  Chapter Five

  Mitch popped in a cassette of his third black-and-white movie of the night. Since he’d left home, his parents had upgraded to a DVD player and he’d poked around until he’d found the old video machine in the guest room closet.

  That room had been his sister Kiki’s room and it still looked girly with the pastel walls, her old white-painted furniture and the blue-and-white Chinese-looking bedspread.

  Whereas his room had become the office-slash-gym and the old furniture was long gone.

  Mitch had carried the VCR into the den, connected the appropriate wires with only a couple of miscues, shoved in the first of the tapes and settled back with a bag of microwave popcorn.

  He liked THE BIG SLEEP with Bogey and Bacall, because if he squinted and stared at her mouth, Lauren Bacall reminded him of Kristen. He could see the whole thing Noir Blanc had going now and wondered if Kristen liked it, or just tolerated it.

  These were some kind of women, he thought during the second movie. Tricky women. Bad news women you were drawn to, desperately wanting to rescue them so they’d be able to be with you. Women being blackmailed. Women who betrayed. Women who loved unwisely.